


in a sea of stars

by wrennette



Series: Trashpile: A Compendium of Unfinished Fics [18]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Abandonment, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 21:12:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13198668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrennette/pseuds/wrennette
Summary: Anakin never walks back out of the desert when he seeks his mother on Tatooine, stranding Padme with Cliegg, Owen, and Beru, and Obi-Wan on Geonosis.





	in a sea of stars

**Author's Note:**

> I had a lot of plans for this, but ran out of steam. Abandoned and discontinued work.

Arms bound above his head, Obi-Wan ran through his options once more. He had very few. Immediately before his capture, he’d attempted to contact the Jedi Temple. His rough landing had damaged the long range transmission array though, eliminating the possibility of relaying a message directly to Coruscant. He had attempted to contact his Padawan next, as Anakin was on Naboo protecting Senator Amidala, and there was a slim hope that the Mid-Rim might be within range of his standard comms. Alas, Anakin had not answered. Obi-Wan had recorded a message and transmitted what he could, but his transmission had been interrupted, and he was unsure how much Anakin would receive, or even if the message would transmit at all.

There had been no negotiating with Count Dooku, and no escape from the stasis field. This then, was the first - and possibly only - chance Obi-Wan would have to effect his own rescue. From Dooku’s taunting, his death would be made public spectacle. The Geonosians would enjoy a long, drawn out death, enjoy watching him fight for every continued minute of his existence. But for him to defy death entirely would draw down their anger. 

Still. 

If ever he had wanted to live, just one day longer, just a few hours more. Obi-Wan closed his eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling the scents of hot sand and metal and the peculiar odour of thousands of insectoids gathered to oversee his execution. He took another breath, fisting his hands on the chain of the long manacles. 

_I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me_ , Obi-Wan reminded himself. _With the Force, all things are possible _. Slowly, he pulled himself up the chain, until his fingers could grasp over the edge of the column to which he was bound. His shoulders ached from the strain, but he pushed on. Gasping with effort, he hauled himself finally onto the narrow top of the column. The buzzing and clicking of the Geonosians had grown louder; likely they hadn’t expected much from him, after he’d been dragged dazed into the arena and let himself be chained like a maiden for sacrifice.__

“I am _so_ glad Anakin isn’t here,” Obi-Wan murmured, surveying the arena. His impetuous Padawan was safe on Naboo with the Senator. And while Obi-Wan hadn’t been best pleased at that division of labour - he well remembered being 19 and in the presence of a beautiful woman - he was eminently thankful now that Anakin would not have to share in this fate. Better Obi-Wan die fighting, the breaking of their bond mitigated by distance, than Anakin suffer through the fight for their lives.

He was fairly confident one of his friends would take Anakin on, raise him to Knighthood. Garen perhaps - they had connected fairly well over their love of piloting. He pushed such thoughts from his mind. To enter into the fight for his life with such a defeatist attitude might very well be his undoing. He was going to fight his way free. He was going to report back to the Council about the clone army on Kamino and the Fall of Dooku. Drawing a deep breath, Obi-Wan centered himself and prepared to live.

* * *

Padme paced through the night, fidgeting with the sturdy mug of tea that Beru had handed her. Regret welled up in her. They should not have come here. They should have stayed on Naboo, where it was safe. She shivered, circumambulating the room once more. Was Anakin okay out there? Alone in the chill night of the desert? Would he find his mother? She huddled in on herself, and prayed to the kind river goddesses of her youth, Solleu to bring her strength, Liana for safety, and Paonga for sweetness.

“If he isn’t back by dawn, another party is going out then,” Beru said quietly from where she huddled by the hearth.

“I’m going with them,” Padme demanded, that same headstrong determination that had allowed her to free Theed and her people from the Trade Federation a decade before, and that had brought her and Anakin adventuring to Tatooine in the first place.

“I doubt I could stop you,” Beru said tiredly. “You should rest. Your eyes will play tricks on you out there.” Padme nodded, but made no move to find a place to settle. Her mind tumbled from one thing to the next. Where had Anakin gone? Was he safe? Was his mother?

* * *

Anakin was distinctly not safe. He had managed to find the camp of the Tusken Raiders who had stolen his mother away. He had even managed to find his mother. But she had died in his arms, and his fear - his fear had ignited into rage. Anakin’s lightsaber was a searing blue sweep of death as he charged through the camp, cutting down anything that moved. He was only one being though, and the Tuskens were many. The Force was his ally, but it could not shield him wholly, not when his control was obliterated by his need for vengeance. 

The first burn of a blaster strike didn’t even register to Anakin. The second stung barely more than a fly’s bite. But Anakin was hit many times from many directions, and even a young man in his prime, bolstered by the Force, must eventually fall before such numbers. The haze of anger did not so much fade from Anakin’s mind, but was swamped by wave upon wave of pain. He collapsed, and consciousness fled.

* * *

Over a week after his near execution, Obi-Wan dragged himself into the cramped hold of a small transport. He had no idea where it was headed or even to whom it belonged, but it was being prepared for departure, and Obi-Wan had been searching for a way off Geonosis for days. He had fought his way free of Petranaki arena, killing more Geonosians than he wished to count with his bare hands or the Force before gaining a blaster from a downed battle droid and shooting his way out. He barely remembered the fight in truth, only the desperation that had choked him and the Force burning bright and strong under his skin.

In the days since, he’d been running, hiding, and fighting. Obi-Wan had managed to find his downed fighter, hoping he might be able to make his way back to Coruscant under his own power. He had found the ship shattered though, too heavily damaged for anything but a complete overhaul to make it space worthy. Daunted but not defeated, Obi-Wan had hidden in the desert, healing those of his wounds which he could through the will of the Force, then making his way back to the spaceports and hiding there until this opportunity had presented itself. 

It was due only to his skill with self healing, gained through long and trying years of missions going south, that Obi-Wan survived his sojourn in the red sands of Geonosis. He had barely survived the arena in truth, and the first few hours after that running battle had been spent in a hollow he’d dug out of the silt with his bare hands, in feverish meditation urging the Force to hide him, to grant him strength and heal his wounds.

Obi-Wan was drawn from his memories as the vibrations he felt through the durasteel decking changed in pitch as the ship’s engines shifted from idling to active, the thrusters engaging to maneuver them out of the docking bay. Obi-Wan secured himself deeper in the shadows and settled into meditation, seeking peace and healing, and bolstering his fading energy. He’d barely rested since his escape, too paranoid of being recaptured.

* * *

Heat throbbed through Padme’s aching head. The desert was bleak and flat before them, the scorching suns relentless in their trek across the broad sky. As Beru had warned, the heat spawned mirages, the light shimmering on the horizon and playing tricks on the edges of Padme’s vision. Like the other searchers, she was swathed in loose, light cloth, the material obscuring her head and face, all of her save her eyes, and even they were shielded with goggles. 

A shout came from one of the other searchers, and Padme veered her speeder towards the sound. The others all converged on the being who had called out, and Padme barely refrained from crying out in horror. In a natural wallow below was a scene of such carnage as Padme had not witnessed since her homeworld was invaded by the Trade Federation a decade previous. Hide huts stood in smouldering ruins, and bodies lay haphazard on the sand. Vultures and other carrion feeders circled overhead and crowded among the sands, picking at the bodies. Occasionally, a soft cry would sound, a sharp beak poking at the flesh of one not yet dead. 

There, among the masked Raiders, lay Anakin, his mother close at hand. Both lay still as death, but Padme hoped - he was a Jedi, and she knew quite well, better than most, that such did not make him immortal. But oh, how she hoped! His dark robes were burned away from him in patches, the skin beneath seared and blackened with blaster burns. The dead Tuskens all bore the tell-tale marks of lightsaber wounds. 

Even as she registered what she was seeing, Padme threw herself from the speeder with a gasp, racing down into the hollow. Vultures and crows rose screaming from the sands, whirling overhead as she knelt at Anakin’s side. His skin was hot and red and dry, but when she placed her trembling hand at his neck, she felt a faint, erratic pulse within. 

“He’s alive!” Padme screamed. “Please, help, he’s alive!”

* * *

Anakin regained consciousness slowly, his perception hazed with distant pain and the dullness of heavy sedation. His memory was foggy, but after a few moments of dazed wondering, he recollected where he had been, but clearly no longer was. Tatooine. His mother. The Tuskens. Grief and rage roared through him, and he howled aloud, giving voice to his emotion like a wounded animal. His fingers dug into the padded surface of the bed on which he rested, tearing at the covering and cushioning. Unseen, a med droid administered another dose of painkillers, calculating it was agony of a physical nature that perturbed him. The door swept open, and Padme stood in the open portal, dark eyes wide with fear and curiosity. 

“Too late,” Anakin sobbed out, collapsing back against the bed as his strength gave out. “Too late. She died - they _killed_ her.”

“And you killed them in response,” Padme surmised, her voice small and afraid, having seen the destruction Anakin had wrought first hand. When he was first found, she had feared for him, his injuries so clearly bringing him to the threshold of death. But at night the whole scene would replay in her eyes, his form still yes, so terribly still, but also the bodies of the Tuskens piled around him, their limbs severed and chests crushed, the trail of corpses extending in one direction that hinted at a killing spree.

* * *

It took a few weeks of stowing away and sleeping rough, but Obi-Wan finally made his way, much bedraggled, back to Coruscant. The Healers descended on him almost as he entered the Temple, and for once he didn’t argue with them. Soothing Force washed over him, and Obi-Wan let his paranoia fade. He was safe. He was home. Obi-Wan’s legs gave way beneath him, and the Healers gently laid him into a hover stretcher, then carried him down into the Halls of Healing. 

Obi-Wan woke to find Anakin slumped in the chair at his bedside, patches of the Padawan’s skin shiny and pink, advertising he too was newly healed. Obi-Wan reached out in the Force, gathering strength and assessing the situation by habit. As his gentle probe ghosted over Anakin though, he recoiled in horror. He had felt more than one Fallen Jedi before, and knew that sensation well. He had failed. Anakin - Anakin had given in to the Dark Side. 

No - Obi-Wan remonstrated himself. No, Anakin had Fallen, but that was no more his failure than Xanatos’ Fall had been Qui-Gon’s. And Anakin was still here, was still in the Temple. Obi-Wan doubted that the Masters of the High Council had simply failed to realize that Anakin had Fallen. He was a Jedi yet. Perhaps - perhaps despite Yoda’s admonitions, Anakin could still be saved. Perhaps he could walk once more in the Light. Obi-Wan had to hope such was possible.


End file.
